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Sunday, January 3, 2016

SUNDAY REVIEW / DORIAN GRAY EXCERPT

British playwright Oscar Wilde only published one novel in his life. "The
Picture of Dorian Gray," first appeared in 13 chapters in the October,
1890 edition of Lippincott's Magazine

Editor’s note:Thanks go to Authorama.com for placing “The
Picture of Dorian Gray” by English playwright Oscar Wilde on the ‘net.It was the only novel written by Wilde.It first appeared in the July 1890 issue of
Lippincott’s monthly magazine and is now in the public domain in America.The following is chapter 4.

Here is a brief synopsis:

Dorian Gray
is the subject of a full-length portrait in oil by Basil Hallward, an artist
who is impressed and infatuated by Dorian's beauty; he believes that Dorian’s
beauty is responsible for the new mode in his art as a painter. Through Basil,
Dorian meets Lord Henry Wotton, and he soon is enthralled by the aristocrat's
hedonistic worldview: that beauty and sensual fulfillment are the only things
worth pursuing in life.

Newly
understanding that his beauty will fade, Dorian expresses the desire to sell
his soul, to ensure that the picture, rather than he, will age and fade. The
wish is granted, and Dorian pursues a libertine life of varied and amoral
experiences; all the while his portrait ages and records every soul-corrupting
sin.

“I suppose you have heard the news,
Basil?” said Lord Henry on the following evening, as Hallward was shown into a
little private room at the Bristol where dinner had been laid for three.

“No, Harry,”
answered Hallward, giving his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. “What is it?
Nothing about politics, I hope? They don’t interest me. There is hardly a
single person in the House of Commons worth painting; though many of them would
be the better for a little whitewashing.”

“Dorian Gray
is engaged to be married,” said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.

Hallward
turned perfectly pale, and a curious look flashed for a moment into his eyes,
and then passed away, leaving them dull." Dorian engaged to be married!”
he cried. “Impossible!”

“It is
perfectly true.”

“To whom?”

“To some
little actress or other.”

“I can’t
believe it. Dorian is far too sensible.”

“Dorian is
far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil.”

“Marriage is
hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry," said Hallward,
smiling.

“Except in
America. But I didn’t say he was married. I said he was engaged to be married.
There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married,
but I have no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that
I never was engaged.”

“But think
of Dorian’s birth, and position, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to
marry so much beneath him.”

“If you want
him to marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it then.
Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest
motives.”

“I hope the
girl is good, Harry. I don’t want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who
might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect.”

“Oh, she is
more than good–she is beautiful,” murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of
vermouth and orange-bitters. “Dorian says she is beautiful; and he is not often
wrong about things of that kind. [33] Your portrait of him has quickened his
appreciation of the personal appearance of other people. It has had that
excellent effect, among others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn’t
forget his appointment.”

“But do you
approve of it, Harry?” asked Hallward, walking up and down the room, and biting
his lip. “You can’t approve of it, really. It is some silly infatuation.”

“I never
approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take
towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I
never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with
what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever the
personality chooses to do is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in
love with a beautiful girl who acts Shakespeare, and proposes to marry her. Why
not? If he wedded Messalina he would be none the less interesting. You know I
am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes
one unselfish. And unselfish people are colorless. They lack individuality.
Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They
retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have
more than one life. They become more highly organized. Besides, every
experience is of value, and, whatever one may say against marriage, it is
certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife,
passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by
some one else. He would be a wonderful study.”

“You don’t
mean all that, Harry; you know you don’t. If Dorian Gray’s life were spoiled,
no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to
be.”

Lord Henry
laughed. “The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all
afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we
are generous because we credit our neighbor with those virtues that are likely
to benefit ourselves. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account,
and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our
pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for
optimism. And as for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is
arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. But here
is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can.”

“My dear
Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!” said the boy, throwing
off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings, and shaking each of his
friends by the hand in turn. “I have never been so happy. Of course it is
sudden: all really delightful things are. And yet it seems to me to be the one
thing I have been looking for all my life.” He was flushed with excitement and
pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome.

“I hope you
will always be very happy, Dorian,” said Hallward, “but I don’t quite forgive
you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let Harry know.”

Oscar Wilde, 1882Photo by N. Sarony

ABOUT THE AUTHOR--Oscar
Wilde (October 16, 1854 to November 30, 1900) was an Irish author, playwright and
poet. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of
London's most popular playwrights in the early 1890s. He is remembered for his
epigrams, his novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” his plays, as well as the
circumstances of his imprisonment and early death.He died penniless.

“And I don’t
forgive you for being late for dinner,” broke in Lord [34] Henry, putting his
hand on the lad’s shoulder, and smiling as he spoke. “Come, let us sit down and
try what the new chef here is like, and then you will tell us how it all came
about.”

“There is really
not much to tell,” cried Dorian, as they took their seats at the small round
table. “What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening,
Harry, I had some dinner at that curious little Italian restaurant in Rupert
Street, you introduced me to, and went down afterwards to the theatre. Sibyl
was playing Rosalind. Of course the scenery was dreadful, and the Orlando
absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy’s
dress she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-colored velvet jerkin with
cinnamon sleeves, slim brown cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap
with a hawk’s feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined with dull
red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace
of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your studio, Basil. Her hair
clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her
acting–well, you will see her to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in
the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the
nineteenth century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever
seen.

After the
performance was over I went behind, and spoke to her. As we were sitting
together, suddenly there came a look into her eyes that I had never seen there
before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed each other. I can’t describe to
you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been
narrowed to one perfect point of rose-colored joy. She trembled all over, and
shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my
hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can’t help it. Of
course our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own mother. I
don’t know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I
don’t care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I can do what I
like. I have been right, Basil, haven’t I, to take my love out of poetry, and
to find my wife in Shakespeare’s plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak
have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around
me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.”

“Yes,
Dorian, I suppose you were right,” said Hallward, slowly.

“Have you
seen her to-day?” asked Lord Henry.

Dorian Gray
shook his head. “I left her in the forest of Arden, I shall find her in an
orchard in Verona.”

Lord Henry
sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. “At what particular point did you
mention the word marriage, Dorian? and what did she say in answer? Perhaps you
forgot all about it.”

“My dear
Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did not make any
formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy
to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me compared to
her.”

“Women are
wonderfully practical,” murmured Lord Henry,–"much more practical than we
are. In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage,
and they always remind us.”

Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. “Don’t,
Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men. He would never bring
misery upon any one. His nature is too fine for that.”

Lord Henry
looked across the table. “Dorian is never annoyed with me,” he answered. “I asked
the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, indeed, that
excuses one for asking any question,–simple curiosity. I have a theory that it
is always the women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women,
except, of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not
modern.”

Dorian Gray
laughed, and tossed his head. “You are quite incorrigible, Harry; but I don’t
mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane you will
feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast without a heart. I
cannot understand how any one can wish to shame what he loves. I love Sibyl
Vane. I wish to place her on a pedestal of gold, and to see the world worship
the woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. And it is an
irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief
makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I
become different from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and the mere
touch of Sibyl Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating,
poisonous, delightful theories.”

“You will
always like me, Dorian,” said Lord Henry. “Will you have some coffee, you
fellows?–Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No:
don’t mind the cigarettes; I have some.– Basil, I can’t allow you to smoke
cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect
pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can you
want?– Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the
sins you have never had the courage to commit.”

“What
nonsense you talk, Harry!” cried Dorian Gray, lighting his cigarette from a
fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table. “Let us
go down to the theatre. When you see Sibyl you will have a new ideal of life.
She will represent something to you that you have never known.”

“I have
known everything,” said Lord Henry, with a sad look in his eyes, “but I am
always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid that there is no such thing, for me
at any rate. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so
much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me.–I am so
sorry, Basil, but there is only room for two in the brougham. You must follow
us in a hansom.”

They got up
and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. Hallward was silent and
preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He could not bear this marriage, and
yet it seemed to him to be better than many other things that might have
happened. After a few moments, they all passed down-stairs. He drove off by
himself, as had been arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little
brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that
Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. His
eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became blurred to him. When the
cab drew up at the doors of the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown
years older.